Fantasy Island

Winter in Formentera is fairly peaceful and somewhat devoid of the social distractions that make Ibiza famous. The locals tend to be quite a tightly knit bunch who don't take too well to outsiders. Now that almost all the tourists have left there are only two bars open in town and people just tend to stare quietly at us when we enter - like strangers walking into a pub on the moors in a werewolf film.

The checkout girl in the small supermarket dutifully keeps all the fresh bread stashed under the till for the locals, refusing to sell any to us although it's our second winter here, which Carita, naturally, had an argument with her about. Hence, we now have no chance of joining that elite club, instead, destined to eat stale bread (on the days we're lucky enough to get that) for the rest of our duration here. Much of the other produce tends to be well out of date, often by months, and hugely overpriced as there's nowhere else you can go.

But the best part is that there's a huge poster just next to the boat that says, 'Fomentera Loves Tourists!'